At The Going Down Of The Sun
by casus17
Summary: When they finally won the war, it didn’t feel like they had won anything at all… With the memories still painful, the survivors return to Atlantis to pay tribute to those who had fallen defending her... futurefic...mentions of deaths


**Disclaimer:** Not mine, cause if it was, it wouldn't have ended.

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for two days… _Buuut_ it's about an hour before dawn, and I'm about to head out, and I won't be home, as some of you know, until tomorrow, so you'll have to wait til then for Crossing the Waters…

But today is a special day in Australia, and no, not just cause it's technically a public holiday, even though it's Saturday.

No, today is what we call ANZAC Day (don't know if anyone else holds it, New Zealand might have something similar) and just in case you don't know what it is, it's to remember the fallen soldiers of the wars Australia has been in, especially the fight at Gallipoli in World War I. I just wanted to write something special to pay tribute to them, the men and women who have given their lives for us. Yes, it's been done before, but not by me, and I think it's worth potential repeats.

Besides, this idea has been floating around in my head, and I finally got to write it!

It's an AU thanks to EatG, but hopefully it will do everything I wanted it to. It's also a future fic, and a death fic…

So, anyways, this is dedicated to the fallen.

* * *

**AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN**

When they finally won the war, it didn't feel like they had won anything at all.

When the ships appeared out of nowhere, they knew it wouldn't be easy. When the Wraith attacked, and when the shield failed, and when people began dying, they knew it would be next to impossible.

When their leaders stepped forward and charged the Wraith head on, they knew they didn't care. No one was taking their city from them without a fight.

When the literal and proverbial smoke cleared, too many bodies littered the ground, the floors were too red, and too many familiar faces stared up at the survivors in the morbid and many expressions of death.

When they finally won the war, they hadn't won anything at all.

* * *

Once the dead were buried, and the floors cleared, the city repaired, they couldn't bear to stay. Those who had fought, and had watched comrades die, those who had survived, they could not stand the sight of those towering spires. Those who had survived could no longer breath in the choking atmosphere of the city they still loved.

Because the faces of the fallen still stared up at them in the morbid and many faces of death, and no amount of cleaning and repairing and burying could force those away.

When they finally won the war, they felt like they had lost everything.

* * *

And once again, Atlantis was abandoned. The years had been good, so far as such things as technology and advancements could be measured, but no one, not even the bureaucrats and superior officers, could force those who had survived to return to the city on the ocean.

So, taking what they had learned from the Ancients, they returned their focus to Earth, and the Milky Way. Taking what they had learned in their complete and utter victory against the Wraith, they found a new confidence against old and new foes at home.

And taking what they learned from Atlantis herself, they allowed themselves to leave the ghosts of the past behind, forging a new era for humanity.

When they finally won they war, they had nothing left to lose.

* * *

When they finally won the war, Dr Rodney McKay, Ph.D, couldn't have cared less.

Everyone knew it, too. Everyone recognised the pain, the too fresh memories forever playing across his eyes. And everyone left him to it.

McKay couldn't have been happier. Well, he could have, but under the circumstances…

Under the circumstances, he didn't care if he ever saw someone from the Stargate Program ever again.

So it was something of a shock when a certain, very grey, General Jack O'Neill knocked on the door of his government-paid, run down, smelly, dark and dank apartment in downtown New York and put a proposal before him ten years after he had left the Stargate behind.

* * *

They came from all over. Not just from all over Earth, but the Pegasus Galaxy as well.

Dozens, hundreds of feet, stepping onto the now lonely, once great, city of Atlantis, whether they were returning, or arriving for the first time, former expedition members, former fighters for the freedom of the Pegasus Galaxy, friends, family, and diplomats who McKay managed to silently hate as he stepped through the event horizon with them.

It was the only thing he could manage against the nervous beating of his heart.

He knew what was waiting for him on the other side. O'Neill had explained what the SGC had organised, what they had put into place in the centre of the dais at the top of the stairs, waiting for all and any who stepped out of that event horizon and walked onto Atlantis' fair floors.

But he had to admit, the first things he saw were –

_Elizabeth, on the balcony, watching over him, only sometimes she was Sam, and sometimes she was Woolsey, and they watched with the same relieved smile that they would always deny was relieved –_

_Sheppard, jogging down the stairs, a wide grin on his face, sharing the joke in his eyes with no one else, ready for anything and everything –_

_Ronon and Teyla coming out of the closest corridor, talking and laughing, Torren bouncing in her capable arms –_

And McKay has to close his eyes before the visions threaten to turn terrible, to turn to _– running from a jumper – dead, joking eyes wide open – wild dreadlocks masking the pain of the burns forever in his eyes – body contorted impossibly as she protects, even in death, a still screaming Torren …_

And McKay has to breathe, has to take a deep breath, as his knees tremble, and Jeannie catches him before he falls, and he tries to push the memories away.

When they had finally won the war, McKay wished he could go back and die with them, just so he wouldn't have to put up with these damn memories all by himself.

* * *

They crowd around the stairs, on the stairs, on the balcony, every neck straining to see the centre of the dais.

McKay doesn't need to strain. As a member of the survivors – and how he's come to loathe that word – he gets prime position, with the others, with those few who had been left when the smoke cleared.

He closes his eyes again and wishes he was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

The speeches go on while outside the day begins to come to a close. Still, it's too long, too many dry speeches, from people who weren't there, who couldn't know anything about what they had all gone through.

So he ignores them, and instead he stares at the dais. At the tall pillar, shaped like an obelisk, writing sunk deep into the stone, but still managing to stick out in stark relief against the pale white. Those words, written in black that McKay can only see in blood red.

Because each word means something different to him than it does to everyone standing around him. Means something different to those few survivors standing next to him, and sure as hell means something different to the people who came to pay respects to people they hadn't even known.

Each word, each name, once again brings up two images, of happiness, of fun, and of good times, and of death, and of loneliness.

And McKay reads through them over and over again, desperate to ignore the words ringing hollowly in his ear.

_John Sheppard, Elizabeth Weir, Teyla Emmagen, Ronon Dex, Jennifer Keller, Evan Lorne, Radek Zelenka, Richard Woolsey, Carson Beckett… John Sheppard, Elizabeth Weir, Teyla Emmagen, Ronon Dex, Jennifer Keller, Evan Lorne… Radek… Radek Zelenka, Richard Woolsey… Carson… John, Elizabeth… Teyla… Ronon, Jennifer… J- John… Eliz…_

_Oh God…_

When they finally won the war, they had lost every single one of those names.

* * *

And then suddenly it's McKay's turn to speak, just like O'Neill had asked him to. And he stands there, not sure, suddenly, if he can. Not sure if he can move, of talk, or even breath, because the setting sun is suddenly catching those names in filtered light, and he doesn't want to remember.

But Jeannie helps him forward, to the pillar, and he feels so much older than he is. Sure, he has grey hair now, and he walks with a limp thanks to the Wraith, but he feels so old, because he feels like he has been away from this city, and these people for thousands of years…

These people…

He doesn't turn around and face the gathered, silent crowd. He walks up to the pillar, with all those names on it, and suddenly he really wants to remember. He wants to remember those names, and those faces, not just in death, but in happiness and fun, and good times. He wants to remember these people.

He reaches out to touch the pillar, just to graze his hand across it, to make sure it's real, because maybe if it's real, those names, these people, they'll be real again…

But the pillar is cold to touch, and once more he closes his eyes, trying to find that sense of warmth he always felt in Atlantis. Always felt amongst friends. He wants to feel them, these names, these people just one more time, like they're standing right next to him.

But they're not, they're not standing right next to him, and he scrunches up his eyes, and gives a choked sob, before falling to his knees before the damn memorial to his fallen friends.

He can't stand it anymore, and it hurts more than he thinks death ever could.

When they finally won the war… McKay doesn't remember winning.

* * *

Sometime later McKay feels a hand on his shoulder, and he knows it's Jeannie, but he doesn't care, because he doesn't want to go. He doesn't want to stand, doesn't want to speak, because these were his friends, and he doesn't want to leave them again.

So Jeannie kneels beside him, one hand on the pillar like him, and she takes her brother in a one armed hug. He gives in and leans into her warm embrace, and gives another sob as he grabs her tightly back, his hand on the pillar and his arm around his sister the only things still letting him hold onto sanity.

And he lets go, letting himself grieve for the first time in ten years, lets go of the sobs and the heaves, and the tears. And in between the crying and weeping, he manages to whisper one sentence.

"I miss them so much."

And his sister pats down his grey hair, and shushes in his ear, letting him cry. And she just tells him one thing.

"I know."

And he grabs onto her harder, so hard he almost misses the third person climbing up to the pillar. But he has to move aside, and he finally looks up, meeting Daniel Jackson face on, both men unashamed of their tears.

And Jackson reaches out to place one hand on the pillar as well, and one hand resting as comfort on McKay's trembling shoulder.

And then a thinner form walks forward, and McKay barely recognises Kanaan, his hand tight around Torren's, who's looking sombre and sad for such a young boy. A young boy who grew up without a mother.

And the boy places his free hand on Rodney's shoulder, as if he has any memory of who the ageing man is. But he looks at McKay and leans down to hug him, while Kanaan places one hand on the pillar, just below Teyla's name.

The front line surges forward, reaching out to put a hand on their pillar, or, if they can't reach, on someone touching the pillar. Not just _survivors_, but everyone, anyone who can, their faces tear-streaked with the memories and deeds of people they didn't even know.

And McKay realises it doesn't matter.

When they won the war… it wasn't about winning or losing then.

It was just about remembering.

And as the sun sets on the city, McKay leans over against Jeannie again, smiling sadly, closing his eyes as he lets her hug him once more.

She leans down to whisper once more in his ear, a promise, a vow. "We will never forget them, Mer."

And he just nods, eyes closed, just listening for the whispers of his friends, their voices echoing through his mind and the dark, lonely corridors of the city. And he knows, even as the tears begin to creep quietly with some relief.

He knows.

* * *

McKay says his final goodbyes to Atlantis at dawn the next day, studying the city, trying to imprint the ghost of her in his mind, the people in their places, the places they had occupied while they, and this city had been alive.

And he knows.

He knows he won't ever step foot on Atlantis again, the memories are still too painful. But others will, and suddenly he doesn't hate them for it.

Because win or lose, fallen or not, Atlantis and her heroes deserved that.

When they finally won the war… it wasn't an end, it was only a beginning, and those names on that pillar would never fade, no matter how much time passed.

* * *

So, what did you think? Personally, I think I write way too much angst and drama… deathfics… Maybe I'll give comedy a go in my next one shot.

I want to make one final note. This is meant in no way to glorify war. Far from it. McKay's message was, obviously, the point. Because, whatever we think of war, these men and women did die, and they still die, and we should remember what they did, why they died, and what they died for. There are some fantastic tales out there… not war stories, but simply stories based during war.

War is tragic and sad, and terrible, and I hope I never see one, but we should remember, otherwise it was all for nothing. Without memory, we're reducing these deaths to nothing.

Anyways, hoped you liked it, and I'll see you tomorrow in Crossing the Waters!


End file.
